A couple of weeks ago, my buddy lost his mind over some Green Crack from Southwest Wellness. There could have been some gesticulating when he told me—a little eye-darting, too. A stomp might have slipped through for emphasis.
“Josh, it is the. Best. Bud. I've ever had,” he told me. His voice was raised half an octave and at least a decibel.
“I believe you,” I said back, but his point hadn't struck hard enough.
“I know a guy like you hears that, and it sounds like—” I was rolling through the index in my brain, trying to remember if I'd been to Southwest before.
“Taos,” I interrupted. He looked at me with his mouth open. “Yeah I think they have one in Taos,” he said. I'd been there. But I was unaware that they'd opened one here. I was getting comfortable, slipping. He was rattling off test results like a salesman.
It worked, but when I finally made it to the store, I was informed that they don't reward patient referrals, no matter how enthusiastic (sorry homie, I tried). I told the budtender that I'd heard “some things” about the Green Crack (THC: 27.3%, CBD: 0.06%—$7/pre-roll). He nodded knowingly. “Oh yeah. It's really good,” he said. “We're all out.”
Sonofa—“Oh wait. We still have pre-rolls.” And it was going to be free. Serendipity.
I grabbed a gram of 707 Headband (THC: 25%, CBD: 0.06%—$10/gram), because he said it was the newest and Lavender (THC: 17.2%—$6/gram), because sometimes a man just needs to feel pretty.
Getting into my car, I paused with one foot inside. Someone had let a mad horticulturalist loose on the bushes facing the street and they'd made a twisted topiary that looked like alien DNA helices. I looked around, but everyone was acting normal, so I did too. I slid in behind the wheel nonchalantly.
My apartment was about 45 minutes from there in the afternoon traffic, so I rolled the windows tight, turned up the pop music (because sometimes a man just needs to feel pretty) and started counting out-of-state plates.
By the time I got home I was mad with the hunger. I'd smelled the 707 back at the store, and it had a sharp, tangy musk that made my mouth tighten. I kicked in the door like an invading army and jumped over the couch. I tore my collar open like Bill Bixby and made guttural noises while my dog looked at me and blinked.
I decided to listen to popular wisdom and smoked the Green Crack first. It's a sativa-dominant hybrid that smells like lemongrass and tastes like thom-kha, which is a coconut milk-based Thai soup. And before you roll your eyes at the hipster, I'd like to point out that if you're familiar with this column, I rarely make such a stupid comparison. But by God: I'm smoking a bowl now and that note was dead on. Distinct memories of cold, sick nights immediately come to mind.
It climbed up onto me pretty quickly, giving off a strong buzzing in my head and making me even sillier than I already was. (“You wouldn't like me when I'm angry, puppy.”) I was an energetic goofball for 30 minutes before I settled back down and loaded a bowl of the Lavender (which smelled sweet and minty, but not like lavender at all, come to think of it).
The buds on this one were a little dry, which I suppose is why it was on sale. Generally a dry bud will be higher in CBN, a cannabinoid that will put your ass to bed, but this one didn't seem particularly sleepy to me. Lavender is also an indica-dominant strain, supposedly, but I didn't get the headiness or dopiness that I usually associate with indicas.
In fact I did the dishes, walked the dog—pretty normal activities at a normal pace. I was in a great mood the entire time, and I did note an extra wobbly relaxation along my spine that was pleasant (and needed).
I finally finished my chores and was sitting in front of a pile of 707 Headband. The single nugget I'd bought was dense and sticky, leaving a disgusting tacky coating on my fingertips. I packed a bowl and went to the bathroom to attack my hands with Everclear on a cotton ball.
From the first caustic hit, I knew I was going to be a fan. It tasted citrusy and sharp. It tasted like black pepper. The sativa side of this hybrid popped its head up right away and bit me on the ass. Something occurred to me.
After 20 minutes and a cherry in the chamber, I'd gone a little too deep down a Wikipedia sinkhole about Punky Brewster.
“Internet people can say such mean things,” I said to my wife as she came through the front door, holding too many grocery bags. She had the same look on her face that the dog had been blasting at me all day.